


count your eyelashes while you sleep

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: All-American Rejects
Genre: Guilt, Infidelity, Kissing, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel/companion fic to Or, What You Will. Written years ago, cleaned up for posting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	count your eyelashes while you sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Or, What You Will](https://archiveofourown.org/works/68903) by [fizzyblogic (phizzle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic). 



Nick had once asked Mike if he believed in love at first sight. Mike had thought about it, and answered, “It hasn’t happened to me yet.”

“Me either,” Nick had shrugged, “but I suppose it’s possible, right?”

“I guess,” Mike had replied.

*

Mike was sound engineer at a semi-successful club in Oklahoma City when Nick walked in, guitar in hand, ready to play with his band. Mike bought him a drink and found out that he was a college student, currently single, very much gay, and unless some serious wire-crossing was going on, very much interested in Mike.

Their first date was to the movies, the second for take-out at Mike’s place, and the third for watching the college football team beat their rivals. All in the space of one weekend. Nick went home for more clothes, and to go to classes, but he spent every weekend after that at Mike’s place. He fixed the toaster, borrowed Mike’s obscure band shirts, and explored every inch of Mike’s body with his tongue. Mike fell for him hard, and fast, and gave him a custom-made guitar strap for their first anniversary.

When Nick finished college and he and Robyn moved out to California, Nick asked Mike if he wanted to come with. Mike suggested they move in together there, and Nick had glowed for five days straight. They found a place, and Mike did the one thing he’d never thought he would do; he left Oklahoma.

The first time he woke up in California — their apartment still a total mess, boxes everywhere, half the furniture not there yet — Nick was pressed up against him and he just watched him sleep a little and thought, _I could like it here_.

*

The day Mike met the love of his life dawned like any other.

The sky was a brilliant blue. Nick’s legs were woven up with his, and Mike watched him sleep for a little while before gently disentangling himself and going in search of breakfast.

Nick joined him for it ten minutes later, still sleepy and rumpled, and Mike kissed him over the waffle iron. Nick sang in the shower and kissed Mike as he left for work, the sun seeming to make him glow brighter for a moment before the door closed.

Mike didn’t have to be at work for another hour, so he watched some cartoons and took his own shower and pulled on the nearest clean shirt. When he got to the studio, the producer was already there and he tapped his watch pointedly, saying, “We’re on a schedule, Kennerty, let’s get these kids in and recording,” even though only the guitarist and the drummer had arrived by that point. Mike got to work setting up the equipment.

After work, he met Nick in the bar a block away from yoga class, which Nick had finally persuaded him to come along to, and they held hands under the table while Nick told him about the fire drill in fifth period and the kid who’d tried to claim that his drumsticks had all been hoovered up off his floor, and Mike talked about the songs he’d been engineering that day and how the second verse of one was just _off_ somehow and the singer insisted on doing it his way but it sounded _bad_ played like that. Then it was time for yoga and Nick took him to the requisite room in the requisite building.

“There’s a new guy teaching tonight, our old one just left,” Nick said to him as they got changed into looser clothes. “A few of the girls say he’s taught them before and he’s really good.”

“Okay.” Mike put his hands on Nick’s shoulders and said, “I just want to remind you that I will feel like a dick out there.”

“You don’t have to come again if you don’t want to.” Nick was smiling, and it was hard not to just lean closer and kiss him. “Just try it once, okay? For me?”

Mike stopped fighting the urge and kissed him. “Anything for you,” he murmured, and Nick hummed happily.

Mike got settled on the mat next to Nick’s, looking around the room and clocking the people who were taking this seriously, the people like Nick who just enjoyed it, and the few awkward-looking ones like him. He exchanged tight smiles with a few of those, noticing that they all seemed to be there with a partner.

Then the instructor guy walked in. He clapped his hands together and barked, “Alright folks, my name is Chris and I will be bending you into new and exciting shapes every week from now on.” Amusement went around the room like a Mexican wave of smiles. “Over the course of our time together I hope we grow close, become a family, learn each other’s names and star signs and favourite drinks, but that can’t start if we don’t begin, _so_. Everybody has a mat, I see, good, so sit up, back straight, and place each foot on the opposite knee. Right foot left knee, left foot right knee, hands just resting palms up in your lap. Now take a nice, deep breath in, and breathe all the way out again.” He walked up and down, checking each person’s posture and breathing.

Mike was having trouble with both. Chris was wearing a vest and shorts, he had tattoos covering one arm, he had muscles but he wasn’t _muscley_ , there was a very slight lisp to his s’s, and he was the hottest guy Mike had seen in his entire life.

He made it through the hour somehow, desperately trying not to flush every time Chris’s eyes landed on him. He hoped against hope nobody — _especially_ not Chris — would notice his boner, and he tried very hard to just watch Nick, watch his boyfriend bend himself easily into whatever shape he was asked to assume, and while it was incredibly hot to watch that, he didn’t get the usual _I bang that dude_ thrill. He was too busy feeling hot and cold with guilt, trying not to watch the way Chris moved and demonstrated each of the positions. (Not positions don’t think the word positions think of something else think of puppies no wait think of _Nick_ think of Nick in those yoga positions think how bendy Nick is how good the sex is how much you love him not how pretty Chris’s eyelashes are _no_ think about _Nick_ Nick Nick _Nick_.)

He didn’t go back to yoga after that. He told Nick it was because he’d just felt like an idiot but that he was _all for_ Nick himself doing it, absolutely, and Nick had just grinned and practically done the splits while riding him.

Mike began the exercise in damage control. He spent a lot of time and effort on Project Don’t Think About Chris. A sub-branch of this project was Don’t Think About Chris During Sex, which took enormous self-containment. After a while, he realised he was repressing so much it _had_ to come out somewhere, so he started sneaking off to the bathroom whenever the pressure got too much and just letting himself jerk off thinking about the way Chris’s body had moved, the way he’d smiled at Mike, the way their eyes had met and a jolt had gone through him.

He dealt with the guilt by paying extra attention to Nick. His favourite ingredients never ran out, Mike always made sure he had plenty of best friend time with Robyn but that they also got enough boyfriend time together, and he tracked down a rare Dr Teeth action figure on ebay even though it was nowhere near Nick’s birthday _or_ Christmas. When Nick exclaimed, “Oh dude, what’s this for?” Mike had just said he’d seen it and couldn’t _not_ get it for him. Nick had gone down on him, doing all his favourite things, and Mike had to concentrate really fucking hard not to picture Chris on his knees, looking up at him from under his hair, making small noises to send vibrations to all the right places.

Nick loved yoga nights. He’d come home practically bouncing, and Mike would sit through a retelling of what Chris had them do, how Chris had said he was doing really well, the book Chris had recommended, what Chris said they’d be doing next week. Mike just let him talk, trying not to wince or blush, avoiding Nick’s eyes the whole time, and when the story was over Mike would look at him again, smile, and say, “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, Nicky.” And then he’d kiss him, and internally beat himself over the head with blunt instruments.

*

It wasn’t exactly a party. They just said they would invite a few friends over, have some drinks, maybe a little music, some snacks. Nothing big.

Nick invited Chris.

Mike couldn’t exactly hide in the closet the entire time, so he formulated a plan. He would talk to John, because he’d only met John once and he’d seemed like a cool kind of a guy. Someone Mike really did want to get to know, a potential friend. He and John could station themselves in a corner of the room and he wouldn’t have to talk to Chris. If needed, he could keep his back to him at all times. He would get through this day, and then he would fuck Nick really hard and not think about anything but how great and hot and awesome his boyfriend is.

The plan backfired within ten minutes. John was commandeered almost immediately by Stacey, who had a crush on him and sent Mike very obvious _go the fuck AWAY_ signals, and by the time Chris arrived almost everybody but Mike was already involved in conversations, twos and threes clustered around. Nick would know something was up if Mike refused to talk to Chris, so he politely offered him a drink and brought him the requested beer.

“I haven’t seen you at yoga since that one time,” Chris said. _Oh fuck_ , Mike thought, _that’s the opening to a conversation._ “Why don’t you come?”

Bad choice of words bad choice of _words_. “It’s not really my thing,” Mike said, relieved to hear that his voice sounded almost normal. “I’m more a … pizza at home on a Wednesday night kind of a guy.”

“So why did you come that one time?” Chris asked, not taking his eyes from Mike’s face. Mike wished he would look away, or at least stop saying the word come.

“Nick.” Mike indicated across the room, where Nick was ensconced with Robyn. Their heads were close, and it looked like Robyn kept giggling.

“Is … that his girlfriend or something?” Chris had followed his line of sight.

Mike laughed. “ _What_? No fucking way, dude, they’re like brother and sister. No, he’s gay anyway, we’re uh. We’re together.”

“Oh.” Chris didn’t sound surprised. He _did_ , however, sound disappointed. Mike fervently wished this wasn’t happening to him. “Nick never really said, I mean — he said this was your place, both of you, but I didn’t know if he meant roomies or — huh, okay, a lot makes sense now.”

Mike looked at Chris. He _tried_ not to, but he did, and Chris was looking back at him, and Mike saw the look in his eyes and felt like an electric bolt had just gone through him. _Holy fuck_ , he thought, _he wants me too_.

Chris looked down at his beer again, jerking his head away. He cleared his throat. “Uh, anyway.”

“I’d better — um. Go, I — yeah. Uh.” And they paused, supremely awkward, for another few seconds — during which time Mike wrestled _hard_ with the urge to grab Chris and take him somewhere, anywhere, to screw his brains out — and then Chris moved off to another part of the room and Mike escaped to the kitchen.

He buried his head in the freezer for a second, contemplating hitting himself with the door on the way out.

The next time he saw Chris was an accident. It was a few weeks after the not-party, and he was in Wal-Mart getting supplies for the weekend that had just begun — and as he turned the corner into the CD aisles, he saw Chris.

“Oh — uh, hi Mike,” Chris said, giving him an awkward smile. His eyes were going darker, shit, were his pupils dilating?

“Um. Hi. I was just,” Mike indicated the basket in his hands. It had some frozen pizzas in it (Nick loved the Pizza Kitchen ones) and some bottles of beer, “stocking up.”

Chris held up his own basket, which contained bread, boxes of cereal, cartons of juice and band-aids. “Yeah, me too.”

“You have a way more sensible life than I do,” Mike observed. The band-aids had dinosaurs on them.

A boy who looked about eleven ran up calling, “Uncle Chris, Uncle Chris, look, they got the Transformer I wanted, _look_!” He held out a box, and Chris examined it.

“Oh yeah, that’s awesome.” He held out the basket, and the kid dropped the box into it. “Um — Luke, this is my friend Mike. Say hi.”

“Hi,” Luke said, looking up at Mike shyly.

“Mike, this is my nephew Luke.” Chris put a hand on Luke’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Mike smiled at him. “You like Transformers, huh?”

“Yeah. I got nearly all of them. Uncle Chris said I was allowed one more, it’s my birthday next week. I’ll be twelve,” he said proudly.

“Wow, twelve? You’re almost grown up.” Mike knew this was exactly the right thing to say when Luke swelled with pride and Chris gave him a grateful look.

“I _am_. We’re having a party next Saturday, will you go? There’ll be cake,” Luke added, as if he was sure that if nothing else, Mike would go for the cake.

He glanced up at Chris, who was nodding discreetly. “That’d be great, I’d love to. Thanks, Luke.” They smiled wider at each other.

“Luke, why don’t you go see if they have those crackers you like,” Chris said, pointing him in the direction of the correct aisle. Luke took off at speed, and Chris called after him, “Don’t run in the store, okay?” Luke slowed down and gave him a thumbs-up.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Mike asked, quickly. “I mean, if I come to the party?”

“Of course not. It’ll just be the kids and us, but I’m sure we could have some fun with it. If uh, if you want to come.”

“I uh, I do.” With an effort he said, “Can I bring Nick?”

Chris looked down at his basket and didn’t speak for a second. Then he said, “Alright.” His voice didn’t quite make it to casual.

“Chris —” Mike breathed, stepping closer. Chris looked up, and oh fuck, his pupils _were_ dilated. “I —”

“Mike,” Chris exhaled, reaching out a hand as if to put it on his chest, a warning, but stopping short of touching him. Mike didn’t know if he was more disappointed or relieved. “Don’t, okay?”

He couldn’t stop himself. He said, “Don’t what?” His heart was pounding and he couldn’t breathe properly.

“Don’t — don’t _do_ this. I can’t — you, you have a boyfriend.” He said it as if reminding himself. “I have a kid, you won’t — nobody wants to date the single father.” He was looking down at his basket again.

“I thought he was your nephew.” It was all Mike could do to say just that one sentence. His whole body was reeling. _I love him_ , he realised. _What the fuck?_

“He is. My sister’s gone, so’s his dad, I brought him up. Just,” he almost whispered it, “don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Mike reminded him, voice just as hushed.

“I know,” Chris exhaled, not looking at him, “that’s the problem.”

They stood for a minute, both breathing hard. Mike was shaking, holding himself back. “I — shit, I have to go. Now, or I’ll — um, tell Nick where to go for the party. I’ll come, I don’t want to disappoint Luke, but I — fuck,” he tore his eyes away from the curve of Chris’s jaw, “I can’t be around you and not —”

“They don’t have any,” Luke said. Mike and Chris sprang apart, and Mike hoped he didn’t look too guilty. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Basketball,” Chris said, quickly. “Come on, Luke, Mike has to go. Let’s go see if we can find everything else on the list, okay?”

Luke stuck his hand out, and Mike shook it after wiping his own hand on his shirt behind his back. His palms were sweaty. “See you next Saturday, Mike,” Luke beamed at him.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then.” He flashed a quick smile at Chris and tried not to bolt on his way to the checkouts.

Nick said he’d love to go to the party with Mike, despite it being nothing but kids there — he pointed out that they were kids he’d probably be teaching in a couple years anyway — and he even told Chris at yoga that he’d bake a cake for it. Mike watched the way his face was all lit up as he sculpted the icing into craters and dips (Luke wanted to be an astronaut, so Nick was making a moon cake) and found a tiny flag to stick between the candles. He carefully pressed footprint patterns onto the surface and wrote ‘Happy Birthday Luke’ in red, white and blue icing under them.

Mike wished he could get very, very drunk.

At the party, Nick nominated himself Head Of Catering and spent most of his time doling out cake, punch, lemonade, jell-o and ice cream and, later, pizza slices. Chris kept an eye on the kids and Luke roped Mike into organising a basketball tournament on the driveway. Mike surprised himself by having a really great time, and by the end of the game Luke was sitting on his shoulders dunking the ball through the hoop and then cheering as Mike jogged a small, careful lap of honour.

Chris watched him from the front porch, a glass of beer in his hand and a soft smile on his face. Mike tried not to let his eyes wander that way too often, but when they did, they connected with Chris’ and both flushed guiltily and looked away.

When all the other kids had gone home, collected one by one by their parents or just walking the few blocks or less home, Luke sprawled out on the grass with Chris and Mike and Nick. “You know, I think I’m getting too old for these parties,” Luke mused. Chris squinted over at him.

“What do you mean, too old? As far as I’m concerned, you’re still in diapers saying _goo goo ga ga_ ,” he teased, leaning over to tickle Luke’s side.

“ _Don’t_ , Dad, I’ll barf my cake.”

Chris stopped. Silence reigned for a moment, the comfortable kind (except for the crackle of tension that Mike seriously hoped Nick hadn’t noticed) and then Chris stood up, brushing blades of grass off his knees, and announced, “I’m starting the clean-up operation. Luke’s the birthday boy so he doesn’t have to help this time —” Luke punched the air “— and you guys are guests, so you don’t have to either. I don’t want to be like, a rude host and go leave you out here, but uh. That’s what I’m doing.”

“I’ll help,” Nick said, scrambling up. “I made a bunch of the mess in the kitchen, it’s only fair I clean it up.”

“Hey, I can’t stay out here and be all lazy if you two’re cleanin’,” Mike protested, rising to his knees.

“No wait, you have to stay here and keep me _company_ ,” Luke told him. “Come on, it’s my birthday and I said you could come. I don’t want to be out here all alone.”

“You could come inside and help,” Chris suggested. Luke snorted. “Anyway, Mike doesn’t have to clean up. Neither does Nick,” he added, but Nick was already inside.

Luke looked at Mike imploringly. “Stay,” he pleaded. Mike looked up at Chris.

“He brought out the puppy eyes,” he said, holding his hands up. “I am powerless.”

Chris grinned. “Okay. I don’t want him out here alone either,” he said, quietly. He had to lean closer to Mike to say it, and Mike caught his scent and swallowed.

“I’ll come help in a little bit,” he said, just as quietly. Chris nodded, lingered for a second, and then bolted back to the house.

When he had gone and there had been silence for a minute, Luke said, “My dad likes you.”

“I thought he’s your uncle,” Mike tried, faintly.

“Yeah, I call him Uncle Chris sometimes. He says my real dad was a deadbeat who left my mom, and she was his sister. So I guess he’s my uncle, but he’s really my dad. You know?”

“I think so.” Mike was silent for a minute.

“You like him, don’t you?” Luke asked, obviously trying to sound casual but totally failing. Mike shifted.

“He’s a nice guy, yeah. He teaches Nick yoga.”

“Nick’s your boyfriend, isn’t he? That’s why you won’t be my dad’s, right, because you’re Nick’s? But I think you should be my dad’s. I like you. You’d be like, my stepdad, and Dad would have someone.” Luke looked over at him, squinting against the setting sun. “People should have someone. I got a girlfriend,” he added, proudly. “Carrie.”

“The one in the pink?” Mike remembered there had been a girl Luke had held hands with for about five minutes over the cake.

“Yeah, that’s her. I like her a lot. Like Dad likes you.”

Mike didn’t say anything. His face was hot.

Eventually they went inside, and Mike helped finish the cleaning while Luke played video games. He watched Chris and Nick laughing in the kitchen and hid himself in the bathroom for a minute, softly banging his head against the door.

He was looking for a place to put the balloons that hadn’t burst when he stumbled across the basement. There were steps going down to it and cool air rushed up them when he flipped on the light. He went down, looking out for rats but spotting only a few insects and one spider. The basement room itself had boxes stacked along one wall, a drum kit set up in another corner, and a beat-up couch or two clustered around a TV set. Mike tied the strings of the balloons around the cymbals on the drum kit, and turned to go back upstairs.

He came face to face with Chris, and jumped. He took a step back and stammered, “I — I’m sorry, I didn’t — I couldn’t find anywhere for the —”

Chris wasn’t saying anything. He was just looking at Mike, breathing hard, eyes dark. “Mike,” he murmured, soft, reaching out with one hand and hovering it inches from Mike’s cheek, “I don’t know what’s — I think we should just, not be around each other. It’s too _intense_ , this — you should — you should go.” He swallowed. “If you don’t —”

Mike whispered, “Yeah, this is — kinda weird, and — and yeah, I should.” But he didn’t leave.

“I guess,” Chris said, voice unsteady, “if I’m not going to see you again —”

“Don’t.” Mike’s breath rushed out all at once, because he’d just had to think about a life without Chris and that was suddenly, horribly real and vivid and kind of _awful_ and Chris closed the gap between his palm and Mike’s cheek and the contact sent bolts of electricity searing through Mike’s entire body. Chris was right; this was way too intense. Mike could hardly breathe.

He didn’t know who kissed who first, but one moment they were just standing staring at each other, connected only by one hand and one cheek, and the next they were kissing, frantic, desperate, hands everywhere and grasping, mouths hard and tongues questing. Mike pressed his entire body against Chris’s, and Chris pressed back just as hard. One of them groaned, or it might have been both of them. Mike had the clear and desperate thought _If I don’t stop kissing him right this second, I won’t be able to stop at all_ , and wondered what the fuck was happening.

“Hey, are you down h—” Nick’s voice broke them apart.

He was standing at the foot of the stairs, staring at them, horrified. Mike realised that he was breathing hard and his shirt was rumpled from where Chris had balled it in his hand, and he must look pretty thoroughly made out with. “Nick —” he started forward.

Nick jumped back. “No,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “No, don’t come — don’t be near me. I — I’m going home now, I — don’t — don’t come back there. Okay?”

“Nick —”

“ _Okay_?” Nick repeated, louder. Mike nodded. “Okay. Chris, I won’t be at yoga. I’ll — I’ll show myself out.”

“Nick —” Mike made to follow him, but Nick spun around. He was shaking.

“Don’t, Mike. Just fucking don’t.” He turned back, pounded up the stairs, and they heard him shout goodbye to Luke and shut the front door.

Mike looked at the floor. Chris cleared his throat, and then sank onto the couch. “Fuck.”

“I didn’t,” Mike started. He paused. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He finally looked up; Chris was watching him. He looked devastated.

“Neither did I. Fuck, I — I really like Nick, this is — fuck. Maybe you could call him, give him time to cool off, then tell him it was just an accident, a one-time thing, we won’t see each other again —”

“Chris —” Mike’s hand made an involuntary clumsy movement towards him. “I can’t tell him that.”

“Why?” Chris looked up at him, and Mike had to look away.

“Because I won’t lie to him. I don’t want to never see you again.” The words were squeezed out of his chest. His body felt like he was fighting his way through a wind tunnel, and he fervently wished he could wake up and not be having this conversation.

“Fuck, I don’t want that either. But — but _Nick_ ,” Chris reminded him. Mike sank down onto the other couch, careful to keep the distance.

“I know. I fucking _know_. I fucking _hate_ this, but Chris, I don’t want to give this up. Whatever this is.” All he wanted to do was move over there and kiss him again, like there was some kind of magnet in Chris. He kept himself still with an effort.

“There isn’t a ‘this’,” Chris said. “There’s a you and Nick, and there’s a me and the TV remote. There isn’t a this, there isn’t an us, and there won’t be.”

Mike looked at him. “You’re really serious about that.” He’d have phrased it as a question except for the finality in Chris’ voice.

“I am.”

Mike’s heart sank past his knees. “I’d — I’d better go, then.” He stood up.

“Yeah. I — go explain to Nick, go get him back. Please. From what I’ve seen, he’s worth it.”

Mike paused at the foot of the stairs, fighting the urge to run back over to the couch. “He is.”

He said goodbye to Luke, who looked subdued. “Will I see you again?” he asked, sounding at least a little hopeful.

“I don’t think so.” Mike shook his head. “Take care of your dad for me, okay?”

“I will.” He looked close to tears, so Mike ruffled his hair.

His closest friend in California was Dave, one of the studio technicians. So he called him as he walked away from Chris’s house and when he picked up, said, “Uh, can I ask you a really huge favour?”

He slept on Dave’s couch for two weeks. He called Nick after a day, but it went straight to voicemail. He left message after message, saying that it was a one-off kiss, could they please talk about it, just let me know you’re okay.

His phone rang at three o’clock in the morning at the end of the two weeks. Nick was completely wasted, slurring so badly Mike could hardly understand him.

“You fucking _asshole_ ,” was the first thing Nick said. Or, rather, shouted. “Fucking _ass. Hole_. And the worst part? The worst part was I fucking _knew_ something was going on. You fucking _dick_ , I hope it falls off. I never want to _see you again_ , you fucking fuckhole _fucker_. And you can keep the fucking apartment, I’m moving out. Go back to your precious fucking Oklahoma with your precious fucking new boyfriend for all I care.”

“Nick, wait, he’s not my — Nick _please_ , I know I deserve all this, can we just —”

“Fucking _right_ you fucking deserve all this, you fucking cheating _whore_. I fucking _knew it_ , don’t you get it?” He had really built up steam now and sounded like he was crying. “I’m not fucking blind, I’m not fucking _stupid_ , I saw the way you looked at him. He looked at _you_ like. Go be fucking happy, you fucking _dipshit_.”

“I can’t be happy, not while you’re — yell at me, Nick, just fucking _yell at me_ , I fucking deserve it. I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t _mean_ to do it, I tried _so fucking hard_ not to —”

“Oh yeah, real hard,” Nick snarled, sounding drunk and bitter and miserable. Mike winced. “I don’t need you, I don’t need you and your stupid excuses, just because you fucking fell in love with somebody else, _I don’t need you_ , d’you _hear me_?” And the line went dead.

Mike stared at the phone in his hands, silence ringing in his ears, fighting the urge to cry or call Chris. He just curled up and waited for the sun to rise.

He went back to the apartment the next day, hoping to find Nick there, but instead he found all of Nick’s things gone and all of his own torn or smashed or bent. His laptop was unscathed, which made his heart ache; Nick cared enough not to lose Mike his job, and he needed that computer for it. He’d been limping along with borrowed ones from the studio for the past fortnight, so he was relieved this one had at least survived.

He looked around the empty apartment, sighed, and started cleaning up.

*

A few weeks later, Mike ran into Robyn in Target. He tried to duck away into another aisle but it was too late, she’d already seen him, and she marched up, hands on hips. Her face looked like a thunderclap.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she hissed, venomous. Mike shrank back.

“I don’t,” he said. “I _don’t_ , I fucking swear, I never meant for this to happen. You _know_ how much I love Nick. Is he okay?” he added quickly, as she opened her mouth to begin hurling abuse.

“No,” she snapped. “He is fucking _not_ okay.”

Mike hung his head. His chest felt like it was ripping. “I didn’t want this to happen, Robyn, please I — you have to believe me.” He looked her dead in the eyes and said, “I _love_ Nick. I _never_ wanted to hurt him.”

She just looked right on back. “Yeah, well, you did. Tell me, are you happy with that yoga guy? _Are you_?”

“I’m not _with_ that yoga guy,” Mike answered. “I haven’t seen him since the — whole thing happened.”

Robyn looked taken aback. “You haven’t?”

“No,” Mike said, realising only after the word had left his mouth that he had poured all of his disappointment and frustration into it. Robyn’s face darkened again.

“Oh, but you’d rather see him again than Nick, is that it? You haven’t exactly beaten down the door. You must have guessed he lives with me now.”

“Yeah, I uh. I did guess that.” It was true, Mike had known immediately where Nick would go. It was also true that he hadn’t tried to follow. “Look, I — fuck it, you hate me anyway, I may as well tell you this.” He took a deep breath. “I do love Chris more than I love Nick. It’s weird, I don’t get it, but it was a sort of first sight intense thing. _But I still love Nick_ , okay? Don’t you ever fucking think I stopped caring about him, because I fucking do, and I fucking _hate_ that I hurt him. But I haven’t come after him because … because he deserves more.”

“He does.” Robyn was obviously trying not to yell at him, or hit him. Mike was suddenly glad they were in public. “He really fucking does, so stay the fuck away from us. I don’t give a flying _fuck_ if you see Chris or not, but _stay away_ from Nick.”

Mike grabbed her arm as she made to push past him. “Robyn — take good care of him. I _seriously_ do still care.”

She shook him off. “You’ve got a funny fucking way of showing it. And I will. You fucking know I will.”

*

Two months slid ungraciously by. Mike slowly replaced the clothes Nick had torn up, the CD cases he’d smashed, the plates he hadn’t taken with him. He finished mixing three albums, getting through the days somehow, coming home to an empty apartment.

He could have just gone back to Oklahoma. He may as _well_ go back, there was nothing left for him here. Except.

He realised that he was waiting. That he was hoping one day Chris would just show up, say that he couldn’t stand it — but Chris thought he and Nick had made it up, probably, so he never would.

Mike waited until one Saturday afternoon, and then he grabbed his jacket and headed over to Chris’s house.

Luke answered the door. His face lit up when he saw Mike. “Hey — _hey_ , what are you doing here?”

“I uh, I wanted to talk to your dad. Is he around?”

“Oh.” Luke slumped. “He’ll be in the basement, you’d better come in.”

“Thanks.” Mike took his jacket off in the hall and was about to ask how Luke was doing when he realised he was alone. Luke had slipped off, and when Mike looked into the den he saw that Luke and Carrie were watching a movie, so he just found the door to the basement stairs.

Chris was sitting on one of the couches, a bottle of beer in one hand, watching a football game on the TV. He didn’t hear Mike’s descent, and after standing awkwardly for a minute, Mike cleared his throat.

Chris looked up. “Mike? What the fuck are you doing here?”

He stepped closer. “I — I had to see you. I um. How’ve you been?”

Chris stared. “What about you and Nick?” His voice sounded thick, like he hadn’t spoken in a few hours.

Mike looked down. “Yeah, no, it didn’t — we never made it up after …” His voice trailed off. There was silence for an entire minute, sixty seconds wherein Mike felt beads of sweat roll down his forehead and Chris just stared at him. At last, Mike broke the pause. “Look, I don’t know why it happened, but since I met you my life is —” From the look on Chris’s face, he was going to be asked to leave again, so he figured if there was ever a time to say it, it was now. “I love you, Chris. I’m in love with you, have been since I _met_ you, and I tried not to but I can’t help it.”

Chris was silent.

“And I guess I just,” Mike continued, swallowing nervously. He twisted the hem of his shirt up in his hands for something to do with them. “I had to tell you that. You can tell me you don’t want me, you can tell me to get the fuck out and never come back, and if you do then I — well, I guess I’ll go back to Oklahoma and start over. But I had to,” he moved closer, breathed, “I had to come here, and find out.”

Chris was silent for another minute.

Mike moved even closer, until he was standing next to the couch. “Please, Chris,” he whispered, “please say something.”

Chris reached forward and yanked him down. He kissed him hard, desperate, a physical plea. Mike moaned and melted into his contours.

“Do you,” he breathed as they broke apart, but Chris just kissed him again.

“I love you too,” he whispered between kisses, and Mike groaned as Chris tipped him back against the cushions, settling one thigh either side of his hips. “Oh fuck, Mike, _fuck_ , please stay, please be here, please —”

“I will, I will, I will,” Mike repeated, punctuating a line of kisses over Chris’s neck with the words. “I will.”

~*~

It was a Sunday afternoon in July, and Mike and Chris were taking some pizzas out of the freezer when Luke yelled, “I’m going over to Sally’s, see you later.”

“Do we have Sally’s phone number?” Chris called back.

“Yes,” Luke said, audibly rolling his eyes. “And I’ll wear my bike helmet. I’m fourteen, Dad, I can take care of myself.”

“Just be home in time for dinner,” Chris reminded him.

“I _will_ ,” Luke sighed, and the front door shut after him.

“What time did Nick say they’d get here?” Chris turned to Mike, who was checking the beer.

“In about,” he checked his watch, “ten minutes, I think.”

“Damn.” Chris put his hands on Mike’s hips, nudging him backwards against the counter. “We don’t have enough time.” He leaned in and kissed Mike’s neck.

Mike shivered. “We can make it up tonight,” he suggested, breathless.

“Fuck yeah we will.” Chris smiled against his skin.

Nick and his new boyfriend showed up eight minutes later. The new boyfriend was tall, crazily handsome, an actual real Hollywood actor, and introduced as Tyson. The first thing he said was, “Nice artwork you got there,” indicating the large-scale framed Green Day artwork Chris had hung over the TV.

Chris and Mike exchanged a look. Tyson was off to a good start. Mike watched him and Nick, the way Nick would touch Tyson’s hip when he wanted to say something but Tyson was looking the other way, the way Tyson picked out Nick’s favourite drink and handed it to him immediately, the smile Nick gave him in return. When they looked at each other, it was like somebody had put little lights all through them.

Nick told them excitedly about the wine tour of France Tyson had just taken him on. Tyson watched him talk, chewing his pizza and seemingly unable to tear his eyes away. Mike sat almost in Chris’s lap and they shared silent communication; _I can see what Nick meant_ , Mike patterned on Chris’s arm with a fingertip. _Yeah, they’re definitely something_ , Chris leaned his head.

Mike sipped from his beer bottle a few comfortable hours later, cuddled up to Chris, listening to him and Tyson discuss the mechanics of cavemen fighting astronauts, and his eyes met Nick’s.

Nick raised his bottle, and Mike tipped his. _We’ve come a long way_ , it seemed to say, _but this is where we belong_. Mike settled further into Chris’s side, closed his eyes for a moment, and smiled.


End file.
